The Devil's Own
by Angry Angel
Summary: [SxS Yaoi] Seifer Almasy is a respectable and snobbish SeeD Commander who cares little about the name or face of his enemies, as long as the pay's right. Even so, there is still one man to oppose who could turn his life around, or perish at his hands.
1. Intro

** The Devil's Own **

**Disclaimer:** "The Devil's Own" is a story based upon the Playstation game Final Fantasy VIII, which is respectively property of Squaresoft, or Square Enix if you wish. I own neither Squaresoft nor Final Fantasy VIII (I do own a Playstation, though!). Please be kind and don't sue me, I'm merely having some (mostly) clean fun with the wonderful characters that Squaresoft created.

This story title and plot are loosely inspired by the movie "The Devil's Own". Characters and their particular storylines, however, are in no way identical or related to the ones in the movie.

Also, though this story will contain references to and, quite possibly, 'explanations' for terroristic acts, it is by no means an excuse for said crimes of which the authoress (me) highly disapproves. Still, there are reasons for everything that happens in this world or any other, no matter if those reasons turn out to be good, bad, or neither in the end. The terroristic theme should move into the background though, even if it will rear its ugly head at several points throughout the story. I'm not a terrorist (duh!), so I base my sparse knowledge upon films and books, hence I'll ask you to be kind in your judgement. Thanks.

Alas, that is that.

**Author:** Angry Angel

**Betareader:** None

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VIII

**Warnings:** Yaoi (boy x boy love) with the pairing Seifer x Squall, language, violence, angst, terrorism, song inserts and any other vile things the authoress may come up with during the course of this story... fanfic... thing.

** Summary:** They say that our lives are foreordained; that no matter which choices we make at some point or another, in the end we will still have to submit to destiny itself and the role that it has appointed to us in the course of our world.

If so, are our past and present ideals and experiences even of any noteworthy importance? Or is our future rather inevitable in its path and its destination, despite our struggles and our earnestly uttered promises?

And if it is indeed so, then what if destiny had never meant for the boy Squall Leonhart to become High Commander of Balamb Garden, or even a SeeD mercenary to begin with?

What if destiny also had never meant for another boy, who carries the name Seifer Almasy, to become the sorceress knight and, ultimately so, the outcast of the nation?

What if rather, in an unexpected twist of plots and fates, Seifer Almasy has ended up a highly decorated SeeD Officer, always prepared to defend the world against all evils that were to come, with no regard whatsoever to their name and their face?

What if one of those evils must inevitably turn out to be Squall Leonhart himself?

But who is Squall Leonhart, anyway?

Where is he?

What does he plan?

Is he truly evil?

What is evil, anyway?

What is good?

And who are we to judge?


	2. Ten Million Bottles Of Beer

**The Devil's Own**

-Chapter 1: Ten Million Bottles Of Beer-

_'Ten million bottles of beer on the wall, ten million bottles of beer-' _

"- at exactly 20:00 flat, with a team of four from Galbadia Garden and-"

_'Nine million and ninety-nine hundred thousand bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine hundred million… damnit. Have to start over. Ten million bottles of beer on the wall, ten million bottles of beer-' _

"- are starting at the Presidential Residence to circle the outer road and-"

_'Eighty-five thousand bazillion bottles of beer on the wall, eighty-five thousand… fucking Hyne, is she still talking?' _

"- must lay low and infiltrate the crowd from within-"

_'… Yup.' _

"- can absolutely _not_ stir any attention whatsoever!"

_'Oh, don't you worry, Quisty. You aren't.' _

"Seifer, are you listening to me?"

_'… Dammit, she's on to me.' _

"Hey, I'm _talking_ to you!"

Emerald eyes that had been comfortably dilated in absent-minded stupor quickly snapped back into focus at the sharp outcry of a furious female that had, thus far, been carrying on at a sweet level of monotony. This whole time, she'd never stirred too much attention from her two less-than-avid listeners (who'd both been quite comfortable with the arrangement), but apparently, that was about to change.

Alas, the respective owner of said emerald eyes shifted in his seat, mentally preparing to dodge a possible blow delivered by slender hands with a three-inch heavy binder that could, by any means, cause him a day's worth of a nasty headache.

It sure as hell wouldn't have been the first time, either.

"Seifer!"

The binder didn't make for his forehead after all, but he could feel someone, or something, nudge the side of his right leg, which he had nonchalantly propped up on the metal table in front of him.

"I'm listening," he drawled reluctantly, if only to put an end to the impatient jabs that were still being issued to the lower extremities of yours truly.

"Like all hell you are!"

Twitching lips stretched into a feral grin at the sound of that comment, and his narrow eyes lit up with poorly hidden amusement.

"Don't you grin at me like that! I've had it with you, I swear!"

Drawing his shoulders up in defeat, the male decided to devote at least some form of effort into keeping a partly straight face. Of course, with a face like his, that proved to be rather difficult; an insolent smirk seemed permanently smacked down on his otherwise quite handsome features, and he had never really tried to adopt a different facial expression. To complete that nearly flawless personification of utter insolence, his jade green eyes were always alight with a spark of natural and almost charming spunk, and said charm managed to work its way into the hearts of the people around him with outrageous ease.

Indeed, Seifer Almasy knew well how to influence his environment to his liking, even if his boyish charm generally failed on his female friend, Quistis Trepe. Said failure was probably to blame on the fact that she had known him for the greater part of her life, and she therefore also knew much better than to fall for his manipulations.

"I'm serious, Seifer," the willowy blonde female named Quistis announced impatiently. "I know everything is a joke to you, but this is important, okay?"

Sighing, he peeled his right arm from the comfortable hollow beneath the nape of his neck, and he let it snap forward in the flash of a motion, snatching the binder of doom from Quistis' unexpecting hands.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just lemme see this. I can read too, ya know, I don't need a two hour long recital, thank you very much."

Next to him, someone gave a low chuckle. Seifer honored the man with a curt sideways glance, and his gaze found a tall, cerulean eyed brunette sporting a suede cowboy hat and a matching coat. Said man, who generally heeded to the name Irvine Kinneas, had watched the scene silently thus far, again and again amused by the countless, futile battles that his mutual friends Quistis and Seifer would wage every couple of hours or so. This time, the two blondes were bashing heads over their most favorite subject of controversy: mission briefings, or rather, the way that they were carried out.

By the way - all three of them were SeeDs, high ranking SeeD officers to even do them any justice, stationed at the beautiful Garden of Balamb, which served as a regular school as well as an advanced academy for the military arts.

For a good nine years now, the two men and their female counterpart had been assigned to the same team of cadets and, later on, battle-tested mercenaries that were commonly known as 'SeeDs'. This group of talented young people was committed to the task of turning the world into a somewhat safer place – in return for adequate payment, of course. The lines of their enemies were commonly filled by simple monsters, political terrorists, renegade Guardian Forces and the occasional sorceress, but those were few and far in between.

It was a pretty decent job, really, and generally not very complicated. They were young (none of them had breached the twenty-year mark yet), but they were carefully trained and made a fair amount of cash carrying out missions for various sponsors. They frequently traveled all over the world, since the Garden committee owned facilities on each of the three continents that were part of the Galbadian empire. On top of that, SeeDs were quite popular with the ladies, which was always a plus in Irvine Kinneas' books.

Oh yes, life could have been so blissfully sweet for each of them.

But of course, Seifer and Quistis always managed to find _something_ to get pissed off about. Today, it happened to be an assignment that had been delivered from their very headquarters in Galbadia. They had been tasked with guard duty at a parade that was to be held at the honors of newly elected Galbadian president Vinzer Deling. Seifer in particular wasn't precisely very _fond _of their latest head-of-the-state, for reasons that he usually kept to himself. Hence, his naturally short attention span had been _extremely _lacking as soon as the name "Vinzer Deling" had left Quistis' lips sometime in the beginning of their briefing.

Which, by the way, had been no less than two hours ago.

From then on, both Irvine and Seifer had spent the time loitering on a couch in Quistis' office, drifting somewhere between apathy and unconsciousness while the blonde girl had been pacing before them restlessly, raising her voice and jabbing her finger at random lines on her assignment notes. Irvine himself had at least bothered to grunt an infrequent "hn", or perhaps even a muffled "uhu" in order to feign some sort of mental involvement, whereas Seifer had given up entirely on listening to their female friend rant on and on about the most basic and self-evident aspects that a mission of such nature obviously entailed.

"Parade in Deling City on May 1st, protect the Vinzer and his family, yadda yadda yadda…" Seifer now summed their task up eloquently, while rolling his eyes at the papers in his hands. "Hey, why ever did they change the name of Galbadia City, anyway? Like that incompetent nutjob of a president really deserves to have some fuckin' town named after his ass. Gimme a fuckin' break."

Quistis' perfectly plugged golden eyebrows had slanted wryly at Seifer's idea of a mission briefing, and she was crossing her arms in front of her chest grudgingly as she watched her companion lolling in the corner of her couch and strewing dirt from his boots all over her once surgically clean office table.

"Anyway, back on track," the baritone of Seifer's voice declared, while the nineteen year old flipped through Quistis' notes carelessly. "_'Heed the high-rated risk of resistance faction activities'_… no shit, what's new? What sorta complete incompetent moron wrote this, anyway?"

"I _told _you it came right from headquarters," Quistis hissed irritably, while starting a vain attempt at snatching the binder out of Seifer's iron-clad grasp.

"Figures. I swear, they always manage to whip up the greatest bullshit over there, like we're fuckin' kids without a clue. They wouldn't know their ass from a hole in the ground over there, yet they think they're somehow qualified to give _us _mission briefings!"

Groaning, he continued to flip through the pages, before he suddenly flailed the binder through the air, showing off a picture of a dark haired young man with cold brown eyes who was smirking at the camera.

"Ah, here we go. Aren Deling, or "the dud", aka our new director over at headquarters. Could he be any more of a brainless shit? Is it biologically possible?" Seifer asked dramatically in his best quiz master impression. "_No_, folks, even nature has its limits, but hey, let's give him a hand anyway!"

After he had let out another impatient sigh, he carelessly tossed Quistis the heavy folder, almost knocking the slender girl off her feet as she caught it square before her stomach. Scowling darkly, she straightened out her orange wool ensemble and pierced the ignorant, bulky blond with a look that could have been aimed to kill, hadn't it been for the fact that she didn't make use of her deadly blue mage's 'Laser Eye' technique.

"Right. When are we leaving?" Irvine inquired curiously from his corner of the couch.

After she had regained some of her composure, Quistis cast a brief glance at the train tickets that had been included in the assignment package.

"Tomorrow. We'll be traveling by train, leaving at 12:00 sharp. We'll spend the night at a hotel in Timber and transit to Deling City in the morning. This is on quite short notice, so you'd better get your gear ready now."

"Yeah, perish the thought of giving us a week's notice or something! Dumb, good for nothing fucks."

With a rasp growl that was almost common to his voice, Seifer drew his legs off Quistis' table and leaped onto his feet in one swift movement. He had a habit of cloaking his tall, muscular built in a long, loose, off-white trench coat adorned by a number of crimson colored crosses, even if beneath said attire he usually wore form-hugging shirts and combat pants.

From the depths of one of his pant pockets, he now produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, but before he could have even dreamed of treating himself to a smoke after Quistis' exhausting lecture, the resolute girl had already fixed him with a glint that suggested murder.

This time, Seifer could have sworn that he had spotted the telltale Laser Eye spark smoldering threateningly in those cobalt blue orbs.

"Don't you _dare _smoke in here! How often do I have to tell you?"

Not even bothering to give a proper reply, Seifer twisted his gaze to the ceiling. Then, he made a less inconspicuous retching sound that seemed to mean something along the lines of "spare me", before he resumed to fashionably ignore the girl and marched out of her office only to light his cigarette the moment that he had set foot outside her doors.

Needless to say, Seifer Almasy was a cocky and spoiled young man. To his defense, it had to be said that he was also a brilliant and talented fighter; he was versed in the use of his weapon of choice, a gunblade model from the ever popular Hyperion series, as well as basic combat spell work and Guardian Force control. His best friends knew of his qualities and usually accepted his flaws, or at least they tolerated them, but even if they wouldn't have, Seifer probably wouldn't have given half a damn. He was who he was and he did what he liked, and he certainly never grew tired of informing his environment of his vast disinterest in their redundant opinions.

Indeed, quite frankly, he couldn't possibly have cared any less what anyone thought of him.

"Damn dude, you really pissed her off this time."

Inhaling deeply and blowing the grey fumes from his cigarette back out through his nose rather than his mouth, Seifer gave a supple shrug at the comment of his long haired brunette companion, who had just emerged from Quistis office as well.

"She'll get over it," he snorted lazily.

"Yeah, I guess," Irvine agreed as he leaned his back against a wall to study his friend from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

Seifer was still standing in the middle of the hallway, blowing shrouds of smoke into the air, not bothering all too much about the fact that Quistis would probably have a seizure the moment she'd follow Seifer's example and set foot outside her door.

"I don't really get why you were so annoyed though, Quisty's recital left aside," Irvine finally continued.

Again, Seifer heaved his shoulders in a display of indifference and abandon, but the apathy in his gaze had kindled with resentment.

"The prospect of guarding Vinzer Deling and his runt during one of those stupid ass parades makes me wanna throw up my lunch, which, really, I haven't even had yet," Seifer explained with a bored inflection. "Speaking of which, I'm fuckin' starving."

"Yeah, I see your point. Still, it'd be a good chance for another career boosting news appearance, ya know," Irvine replied with a wink and a suggestive grin.

Seifer rewarded him with a guttural grunt, before he flicked his cigarette butt onto the floor and crushed the glinting ash beneath the heavy heel of his boots.

"Like I wanna be any more important or famous than I already am," he hissed in annoyance. "This job is starting to suck serious ass, especially with headquarters always on our case."

"Heh. Caraway and Deling weren't too pleased, were they."

"Nope. Not really. And now the dumb fuck's President, I mean, what gives?"

"Don't know," the cowboy mused, while staring at the flattened cigarette on the marble floor. "Maybe we'll get better pay now or something?"

Seifer snorted. "Hardly. More work for less dough, more like it."

"I thought your old man was gonna pull some strings?"

"He's busy playing golf with the other geezers. Why do you think they handed over Trabia and Balamb?"

"Good point."

"Ain't it just?" Seifer laughed sarcastically.

"Guess we can only wait and see."

"Yep. Be still my beating heart."

Grasping the left side of his chest in mock fascination over the subject of their new leaders, Seifer threw his tanned, angular face into a snide scowl that reached his eyes and resonated in their viridian depths in a faint, cynical glow.

A second later, he dropped his hands almost abruptly, and his features snapped back into a mask of snobbish indifference.

"Anyway. I need some chow."

"Sure, Private, you got my approval. Watch that diet, though, you've been getting a bit on the chubby side," Irvine sneered, but he quickly scurried out of reach and down the hallway before Seifer could have had a go at him for the tease.

The blond merely let out a rasp chuckle.

"Retard."

Sighing, Seifer followed the brunette's trail to the cafeteria, and he caught himself praying quietly that he would maybe break his neck on the way, or better even that Vinzer Deling might break _his_, or that, for any other damned reason, he would find a way to be exempted from his parade duty.

He had never seriously assumed that, somehow, his prayers just might be heard…


	3. Of Trains And Primates

**The Devil's Own**

-Chapter 2: Of Trains And Primates-

He had been sitting very still, and those that didn't know him probably would have thought that he was sleeping. Wisps of straight, chocolate brown hair danced lazily into his face to the quiet rhythm of the wind that was sweeping through the streets of Timber in the golden light of a fading afternoon, and he made no effort to brush them away. In the distance, his keenly trained ears could perceive the sound of children playing and the familiar whistle of a train that had just boarded the station. The air was laden with the sweet smell of blossoming trees and freshly cut hay from the surrounding farms, but he paid little attention to that.

Sighing, he tilted his head towards the sky, and his slate blue eyes narrowed instinctively as the intense rays from the descending sun cut into his face. Fair and finely chiseled features crinkled just slightly at the sensational overload, but he didn't blink once. His roaming gaze focused on some random clouds that drifted languidly across the endless azure surface of the sky, and his back connected with the rough wood of the bench that he had been resting on so soundlessly.

He was a strange sight to behold, seemingly misplaced in the quiet, rural town of Timber. His clothes gave away little about his trade. Clad in heavy biker boots, long black leather pants and a short sleeved black t-shirt that rippled tightly over taut abdominal muscles, he looked like a trouble maker, although his mannerisms would have suggested differently.

No, his attractiveness was certainly of a darker, more melancholic kind than the simple splendour of a warm April's day. It was enhanced by the clash of his ivory skin with the cold brown of his hair that fell in large chunks into his face, but was cropped fairly closely at the nape of his neck. His appearance could have even been labeled anything from rogue to athletic to even fragile, hadn't it been for that dangerous glint smoldering in his storm colored eyes that openly belied his youth and spoke of wisdom that was far beyond his age.

Indeed, few would have believed that his lifeline counted little more than seventeen years, although he looked not a day older than his ID card stated - well, _one_ of the many that he owned, anyway.

His crimson lips were dry and raw against the sun, and he licked them absent-mindedly, tasting a faint trace of salt and the bitter sweetness of pollen. He decided that he didn't much like that particular blend.

His legs had been resting on the wood motionlessly, placed in a perfec angle to each other and to the slender hands that were set on either side of them. Now, he stretched them with a mute sigh, flexing lithe muscles that he had spent much work on steeling and sculpting to almost disturbing perfection.

Not that his looks actually mattered to him.

His shoulders and his back were a little sore from sitting up straight like a board for so long, and he extended his arms before himself to ease the tension. It didn't really help much. For a moment, he found himself wondering at the time, but then he recalled the high metal whistle that had rung mere minutes ago from the Timber station.

_'4:05pm.' _

Without really knowing why, he rubbed at the slanted scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, but he didn't consciously think of the mark as he performed the intuitive movement with his hand. He was just feeling slightly under the weather today, which was particularly unusual for someone like him. He wasn't exactly the type to be much bothered by outward influences.

Then again, he didn't exactly think that he was the 'type' for anything, for that matter.

Well, short of being the type that could go for an early dinner, perhaps. It was about that time.

Thus, he pushed himself off the bench with astounding elegance, his body giving away none of the minor aches that were bothering him. He had made a habit of never displaying any sign of weakness, whether he was alone or amongst friends or enemies. He neither liked the idea of the former scolding him for his recklnessness concerning his health, nor the thought of the latter making use of the fact that he was, after all, far from invincible.

But enough of that.

He was hungry and his stomach was churning noisily, spitefully reminding him that there were still some things in his life that were not under his control.

With a small grimace, he decided that he was going to give nature this one – after all, he saw no danger in it. His friend, Selphie, probably would have laughed at him had she seen his face right then, and more likely than not would she have mocked his obsessive urge to be in charge of everything that ever happened in his life, be it by destiny or by chance.

Not that he actually _believed_ in either.

His lips twitched into the semblance of a smile at the thought, but there was no humor in that slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. He rarely ever smiled, and surely not when he was all by himself of all occasions. He would have felt like a mental case, and that was simply not an option.

_'Whatever.'_

His arms hung slack at his sides as he slowly trudged back into the heart of the town, Timber. The prospect of a dinner at home or the local restaurant, perhaps, had stirred another idea in the ever so arcane crevices of his mind. As much as he usually preferred a state of complete solitude at any chosen time of the day, there was still one person he could think of that needed a good meal probably even more so than he did.

Thus, he didn't take a left at the crowded market place as he would have usually done when he was on his way home or to work, but instead swung right to cross a bridge that hovered above the train tracks that stretched all across one level of the city. Timber was indeed quite the reloading point, as it was the only existing connection between the islands of Balamb and Galbadia. In fact, said connection was a very technically advanced submarine railway line that the Galbadian Railway Association took much pride in.

The dark haired boy snorted quietly at the thought.

He dug his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked over the bridge, and he stopped just briefly at the display case of Timber's weapons dealer. The owner, Watts, was actually someone the brunette youth knew quite well, but today he didn't linger to study his friend's selection of merchandise any further.

His actual destination was the Timber Hotel, and he stepped through frosted glass sliding doors and inside the establishment's foyer with his head hung fashionably low, while his steel blue eyes were nailed to the marble tiled floor at his feet. Subconsciously, his ears were listening for the soft wheezing of the model railway that had been put up for reasons that the teen would never understand. Timber was _already _crammed with trains, and the natives in this town had developed a bit of an obsession with the same, but he had gotten used to it over time. After all, there usually was not a _day _that passed that he did not stop by the city's hotel, and he knew that place almost as well as his own house.

One thing, though, he most certainly did _not _remember from his previous visits...

Apparently, someone had decided to plant something very big and very sturdy right in the middle of his way, and before the brunette could have done anything to prevent it, he had walked straight into said obstacle, bumping his nose on something that felt much like a shoulder. On top of that, this annoying object was sort of capable of talking.

_Sort of_, because the words that came low and annoyed from somewhere in front of the youth could have hardly been classified as a full sentence, let alone an intelligent one at that.

"The _fuck_!"

_'Great. Of all things to bump into, I have to bump into an anthropoid.'_

And with that thought crossing his mind and resonating in the smooth lines of his face in the darkest of scowls, he reluctantly raised his head.


	4. When Worlds Collide

**The Devil's Own **

-Chapter 3: When Worlds Collide-

He had never much liked trains, really. There was just something about them that irritated the heck out of him – _something_ that he couldn't quite place his finger on, aside from the obvious aspects, of course, which he was generally more than happy to recount.

First of all, they smelled (though Quistis took a habit in denying that), second of all, they rattled as if they were about to come undone into their individual parts at any given minute, and third of all, they were usually infested with those nutjobs that had nothing better to do than stand at the windows, block the way and stare at the landscape flying by as if it was the greatest damned thing in the world.

His friend, Irvine Kinneas, was one of those nutjobs.

During trips, the long haired brunette cowboy would usually stay glued to one chosen window outside their cabin, conducting strange monologues about love, the hardships of a sharpshooter and other weird things that Seifer _really_ didn't care to know any intimate details about.

And so Seifer had little choice but to stay inside their private cabin during the trip from Balamb to Timber and lament in silence over the more gruesome aspects of his fate. Quistis was with him, too, double and triple checking her gear as if there was a damned thing that she'd be able to do about anything that she'd left behind by mistake. She, too, would mumble incoherently, and it was getting more difficult to ignore her by the second.

Honestly, Seifer really _did _like the two SeeDs in his squad, even if his foul attitude might have suggested differently. He had known Quistis and Irvine for the greater part of his life - ever since he had turned ten years old, to be exact - and they were pretty companionable once you got to know them. All in all, it merely took a fair amount of intestinal fortitude to tolerate their unnerving quirks. Quistis' obsessive-compulsive correctness and Irvine's random fits of childishness, or the fact that the cowboy firmly believed himself to be the second Casanova, could be annoying at best, but aside from that, they were both pretty harmless, and they _were_ good friends, after all. Without them and his other two close buddies, Fujin and Raijin, Seifer probably would have whacked out entirely after that particular Dollet incident, which had rendered him something like a celebrity.

In the end, he hadn't become any more or less crazy than anyone else would have in a comparable situation, which seemed to have somehow disappointed his critics. In fact, Seifer was still quite sane and perfectly capable of leading a SeeD squad, though it was obvious that some would always disagree.

But hey, what did _they_ know, anyway?

Either way, he could currently be found propped up on their cabin's couch, flipping through some old battle series magazines with an expression of haughty boredom plastered across his attractive features. Every now and then, he would subconsciously massage the bridge of his nose, but he never really paid any attention to the wry scar that was etched into the tanned surface of his skin. He wasn't usually the type to be getting headaches, though the tightly wired tension behind his forehead belied that statement without much effort.

"Hey, Quisty," he finally sighed and glanced at his friend, "D'ya bring some tylenol or something?"

She looked up at him from her duffle bag, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly and adjusting the position of her glasses on her nose.

"Why?" she asked, sounding somewhat incredulous. "Do you have a headache?"

"No, I'm on my period," he snorted, rolling his jade green eyes. "Can I have a hug?"

The blonde girl slanted her aristocratic features at the sarcastic remark, but she begun rooting through the pockets of her bag all the same. Finally, she produced a small, red plastic bottle that she tossed him in a steep arch, and it landed in his lap with a clattering sound.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he purred, before uncapping the lid and dry-swallowing a couple of the firm white tablets.

The bottle disappeared once more in the astounding depths of Quistis' bag after Seifer had returned it to her, and both SeeDs pretty much spent the rest of their trip in semi-comfortable silence. Seifer tried to focus on the mission ahead of them, but as he wasn't one to typically take medicine unless it was forced down his throat, the tylenol messed with his concentration quite a bit – or so he liked to tell himself, anyway, instead of simply blaming his drowsiness on having spent the greater part of the night hacking away at grats in Balamb Garden's training hall.

In the end, he actually took much pride in the fact that he hadn't fallen asleep once throughout the entire four hours of their ride, if only thanks to Quistis' constant ruckus. He was relieved when their train finally boarded at the station, and he was able to step out of the confinement of their cabin and into the sunshine and the fresh breeze of a nice April afternoon.

Around them, Timber station was buzzing and whirring with a broad array of sounds - chimes of whistles, the cries of children, locals picking up their loved ones and informative announcements called out through numerous loudspeakers.

As Seifer was still debating whether or not he was inclined to lighting himself a cigarette, he could feel his headache returning, which ultimately resulted in his decision to hold off for now.

"Let's go," he ordered with a sigh, shoving the cigarette pack deeper into his pocket; he was certain he'd be needing it later.

He slung his bag across his shoulder, and the two SeeDs at his side followed his example quickly.

The air was surprisingly warm, and Seifer made a mental note to take off his trench coat and put on a short sleeved shirt as soon as they'd reach the Timber Hotel. According to Quistis' notes, headquarters had reserved two rooms there for their overnight stay, due to the misfortune of the next Deling City bound train not leaving until the following day.

They rarely ever lingered in Timber for any longer than a few minutes during their trips, and Seifer had almost forgotten (or repressed, more like it) what the town looked like. Usually, they'd avoid Timber and move right on to D.C. (formerly known as Galbadia City and abbreviated whenever possible because Seifer hated to vocalize Deling's name) by train, rental car, or better yet, by airship, but apparently, the SeeD committee had decided to turn stingy on them and merely hooked them up with three train tickets and a stay at the local inn.

_'Sorry fuckers. Told ya - things are all going downhill, mark my words.' _

He heaved a mute sigh at the memory of things that had come to pass ever since the shift of power in their line of command and at the prospect of the things that were still _bound_ to happen, but quite frankly, there wasn't a whole lot that he'd be able to do about either. That was saying quite a bit, too, considering that he was the only son of General Erick Almasy - one of the three heads that made up the SeeD committee these days.

But, believe it or not, that little gem of family connection right there had never sacked him any special treatment.

"Uhm, when are we leaving again?" Irvine suddenly interrupted his musings.

Judging by the whiny edge to the brunette's voice, Irvine was about as thrilled about their overnight stay in that hillbilly freak town as Seifer was. It was understandable, too, as there wasn't much to be found in Timber aside from a few tiny shops, a sleazy bar (which happened to serve food, too), the local newspaper office, the TV station and, well, the hotel.

Oh yeah, and the trains. _Lots_ of fucking trains.

_'Yes, and let me emphasize this - I HATE trains. Hate them. They could all blow the fuck up at once and I wouldn't shed a single goddamn tear.' _

"We're leaving in the morning, 9:00am," he could hear Quistis reply to the cowboy's inquiry. "Not so bad. Pull yourselves together already. You guys are whinier than a bunch of teenage girls."

_'That's Quisty, always looking out for us.' _

"Thank Hyne," Irvine mumbled under his breath. "Let's get to the hotel already, the sun's frying my brain even through my hat!"

Oh, and that comment was just _begging_ for an Almasy editorial.

"Like there's much there to be fried in the first place."

"Tche! Go soak your head, greaseman!"

Grinning like a predator, Seifer vainly raked his hands through his carefully gelled back tresses in his best impression of a pretty boy. Then, he flicked up his right middle finger to flip Irvine the bird, who gladly reciprocated the honors whilst cackling with glee.

"Gosh, you two are worse than the ten year old cadets, I swear," Quistis groaned in exasperation, while adjusting the position of her bag on her shoulder. "Just grow up already!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," her blond companion merely shrugged and purposely pushed Irvine's hat into the brunette's face. "After all, we worked so hard on becoming this annoying."

"Let's go, before she ends up blowing a blood vessel or something," Irvine hissed into Seifer's ear, after he had pushed his stetson back into position. "She's got that look again."

"Hey! I _heard_ that!"

They continued on their way snickering like kids that had just hit puberty, rather than the respectable SeeD officers that they were, and in the careless joy of the moment Seifer had almost forgotten all about his foul mood.

That was, until they had reached and entered the hotel lobby, and he was greeted by the zealous tchoo-tchoo of a model steam railway that Seifer had thus far done well at ruling out from his memory of previous stays at the Timber Hotel.

"What is it with these freaks, anyway?" he growled, while (unsuccessfully) trying to glare the model railway to shreds. "It's like their entire _life _orbits around nothing but trains, trains, and more trains. I bet they shit trains, too."

"Seifer!" Quistis cried in revolt over his not-so-classy choice of words.

"What?" he shrugged. "You know I'm right, don't even deny it."

"That's not the point," she frowned. "You've gotta conduct yourself in public. Someone could have heard you."

"Yeah, well... see the concern in my face? Didn't think so, cause it ain't there."

"Oh, for the love of Hyne, Seifer!"

_'Damn, she sure has a way of grinding out my name. How long did she have to practise for that one, I wonder? She seriously needs a boyfriend to pull that stick outta her ass.'_

He heaved a deep sigh of frustration, before suddenly dropping his weighty bag onto the floor with a thud and throwing his arms to the side in half-mock, half-serious outrage.

"Look, what are you getting your panties in a knot about? There's nobody _here_!" he illustrated enthusiastically. "This place is _dead_! Hell, it's deader than dead, it's-"

He had actually meant to finish that sentence, but found himself interrupted as someone, or something, slammed into his shoulder from behind in a rather crude and unexpected fashion. There hadn't been too much force behind the impact, but nonetheless, the collision managed to unsettle him, and unsettling Seifer was not a good idea on the best of days.

"The _fuck_!"

He took a sharp half-step forward and pivoted on the spot, his jade green gaze aflare with short-tempered rage. Whoever had just bumped into him better be down on their knees in prostration, or else they'd be in for an ugly surprise. He was a bloody SeeD after all, not some cheap piece of fucking furniture, and he was all too ready to emphasize his point by volume and by action.

And thus, he collected his breath for a rather nasty outburst of a temper that he had never spent much effort into controlling.

"Hey, you fuckin' freshwater _hick_," he barked, "How 'bout you-"

But once again, Seifer's words simply got stuck in his throat when his sight suddenly leveled with the "freshwater hick" that had dared to run into him so carelessly.

At first, he thought that he was staring into eyes that belonged to the Guardian Force of Ice, Shiva herself. They were blue, cold and unkind, filled with a general kind of annoyance. Those frigid eyes were set into a boy's face that had been tipped up to meet his own, and that face managed to knock the wind out of Seifer in the matter of a split second.

Rarely before, if ever, had the Garden Commander seen a more sinister, malicious scowl on a face so young and so pretty that it looked almost delicate and feminine. That kid was gazing back at him from behind carelessly askew strands of dark brown hair and coal black lashes, and his crimson hued lips were a thin, hard line, complimenting the scariest of frowns that Seifer ever had the pleasure to witness with his own eyes.

Mentally, he did have to correct his first impression of a 'kid', though. That guy standing before him like the human incarnation of Shiva appeared to be about his age, perhaps a little younger, and there was something so dark and cold about him that it sent a chill down Seifer's spine. The blond had seen Zombies sporting friendlier expressions, even if, on second thought, the brunette was actually surprisingly attractive.

Well, as attractive as one can be when trying to freeze hell over with a single glance, anyway.

_'Holy fuck.' _

Aside from that abstract round-up of the boy's looks, Seifer's mind was pretty much empty. While he would merely gape at his brunette opposite, the stranger lowered his brows, and Seifer saw how his narrow nose crinkled a little – probably because it had made such rough contact with the blond's shoulder blade.

Then, something else caught the SeeD's interest; something that he hadn't noticed before, probably because he'd been too distracted by the boy's exotic good looks.

A scar.

Not just any kind of scar, either – instead, a scar that was absurdly similar to the one that already graced his own forehead.

At second glimpse, however, Seifer wasn't really so sure anymore whether said scar was really all that similar to his, since _something_ definitely seemed to be off about it. Still, a certain familiarity couldn't be denied, and it stirred something within the blond that he couldn't quite explain.

Eventually, Seifer had succeeded in regaining at least fractions of his composure, but before he could have put them to use by starting his angry rant once more, the stranger yet again surprised him.

The brunette shrugged very softly underneath his tight black shirt, a movement that was hardly noticeable in its tiny upturn of one shoulder, before he shifted in his stance and calmly turned away.

Had it been physically possible, Seifer probably would have looked even more taken aback than he already had to begin with. Dropping his jaw and stupidly flapping his mouth with words that wouldn't quite come to him, he had to watch how his opposite ignored him and trudged over to the hotel desk to exchange some quiet sentences with the reception clerk.

Next to Seifer, Irvine finally cleared his throat and nudged his friend in the side.

"Yo, Seif," he mumbled. "You're staring."

That was enough information to pound at least some sort of sense into the blond, and he drew a loud, hitched breath that gave away his irritation.

"Fucking bite me, Kinneas!"

He crossed his arms before his broad chest with a venomous snarl, now resuming his typical personification of utter coolness and intimidation.

Come hell or high water, he was going to teach that little prick of a hillbilly how to conduct himself around a SeeD officer.

The brunette, however, didn't seem all that impressed. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even heeding Seifer with a _single _fucking glance.

"The fuck is his problem?" Seifer growled darkly, while glaring daggers at his object of aggression from behind.

"What do you mean?"

Seifer had no chance to reply to Quistis' curious question, as the dark haired stranger had finally turned away from the clerk and walked back into their general direction – or the direction of the exit, for that matter.

"Hey! You!"

The harsh outcry caught the youth's attention at last, but his hard features still couldn't be bothered to smooth into anything but a bored frown. His slate blue eyes met with Seifer's peridot ones, but little more emotion was to be read on their clear surface.

"I'm talking to you."

Yet another statement that didn't exactly seem to pique the dark haired guy's interest, nor appeared to unsettle him at least a tiny bit. He was slightly shorter in height than Seifer, and quite more fragile in his built, but apparently the blond across from him still didn't rank very high on his personal list of possible threats.

Well, Seifer was definitely planning on rectifying that.

Arching his thin dark eyebrows, the brunette eventually buried his hands inside his pockets and let out a quiet, emotionless sigh.

"... And?"

Seifer was almost astounded to finally receive an answer of sorts, but he made sure not to let his surprise show on his face this time.

"How about an apology?" he snarled demandingly.

Now, the stranger was considering him with a look that suggested serious skepticism over his sanity, but yet again he gave a supple shrug.

"... Whatever."

His voice had been equally lazy and indifferent, and - much to Seifer's displeasure - he made no attempt at using said voice to utter anything else, much less an apology for that matter. He merely stood there and glared at Seifer for a seeming lack of more interesting things to do, and then he waited.

As soon as it dawned Seifer just _what_ exactly that guy was waiting for, his tanned complexion kindled with a furious shade of crimson.

"Not from _me_, you idiot!" he snapped angrily, gesturing with both hands. "_You_ were the one who bumped into me like a dumb klutz! _You _apologize to _me_! I ain't apologizing to _you_! Forget it, you dumb little shit! No fucking way!"

Oddly enough, the dark haired guy seemed to have found some strange form of amusement in those hasty and belittling outcries, and his lips curled into the semblance of a very cunning smile.

"If you insist. Apology accepted."

And with that, he casually pushed past the small group of SeeDs to vanish through the sliding doors and out of sight, leaving behind a dumbfounded Garden Commander and his two friends that had never quite seen Seifer Almasy be verbally outdone with that much cool and careless ease.

They were just a little bit impressed.


	5. Careless

**The Devil's Own **

-Chapter 4: Careless-

"That fucking little-! Who does he think he-! I'm gonna- _Argh_! Get back here! I'm gonna kick your skinny little-"

It had taken a few seconds for Seifer to regain his composure following the brunette's departure, but when the capability to speak returned to him at last, it returned with an intensity that caused Irvine to pull his cowboy hat lower into his face in the vain hope of covering his ears.

Quistis, on the other hand, seized Seifer's upper arm firmly, obviously for the purpose of rooting him to the spot and keeping him from just running after the smart-mouthed brunette stranger. She also considered using a Stop or a Silence spell on her friend, but she knew well enough that Seifer would've taken great offense to that, and more likely than not he would have been beyond all bearing for the rest of the year or so. He wasn't exactly known for his forgiving nature.

Hence, she decided on settling this the old fashioned way.

"Seifer, calm down," she tried to soothe him, though she couldn't quite suppress a wry grin. "He's just some kid, let it go. You're a SeeD."

Of course, Quistis too had felt the strange tension that had echoed between the two young men, but if she would've wanted to keep track of every single run-in that Seifer had ever had with random villagers, she would have had to keep a logbook. Dropping the matter really seemed like the more intelligent thing to do.

Unfortunately, Seifer seemed to disagree.

The blond SeeD abruptly swiped his arm out of Quistis' grasp and left his duffel bag sitting in the middle of the hallway without giving it another thought. Then, he marched up to the clerk's desk with a face that suggested murder.

"Hey, you, I need some info!" Seifer demanded hotly and slammed his hands down upon the mahogany surface of the reception desk.

The redheaded middle aged man behind the counter winced ever so slightly, but he devoted earnest effort into retaining his friendly, professionally distant expression, despite the fact that his skin had paled a shade or two.

"Ahh, y-yes, of course, that's what I'm here for, Sir. I'd be more than happy to assist you. What can I help you with?"

He took a steep bow, or as steep as the counter between them would allow, and his lips phased into a feeble smile that was twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, spare me your lines and your bullshit," Seifer dismissed the man's politeness with an impatient wave. "Who was that guy that just left?"

Entirely overwhelmed by his guest's uncalled-for aggression, the clerk actually had to ponder that question for a moment before his face lit up with recognition.

"That… Oh! You mean Squall, right?" he offered excitedly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He really should have expected that green eyed monster to yell at him again, but the clerk cringed in surprise all the same.

Where was that panic button again when you needed it?

"I don't know if I mean whats-his-face, he didn't have a name tag stapled to his fucking forehead!" Seifer hissed coldly. "_If_ he did, do you really think I'd be asking _you_?"

"N-no, of course not. My apologies, Mister…?"

"Almasy," the nineteen year-old growled in exasperation.

There were still people who _didn't_ know his name, shoe size, breakfast habits and every tiny, unimportant bit of his life story the moment that they'd seen his face?

Astounding.

"Mr. Almasy, yes. I'm very sorry. I presume that you're referring to Squall Leonhart. He was the young gentleman who just stopped by my desk."

"And who is he?" Seifer inquired further, while his brain worked on churning through the scarce bits of information that it had received thus far.

Squall Leonhart, huh? That was a pretty stupid name, he decided. Who ever would've wanted to be named after a windy fancy of nature and a stinking, furry animal?

Squall. Squally. Squally-boy. How completely ridiculous.

Still, there was something odd about that name, something stranegly familiar, though Seifer couldn't exactly place his finger on the impression. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he'd heard that name before.

"Squall, hm…" the man started, while scratching his chin in thought. "Well, he's a local. His sister, Miss Ellone, is the manager of our establishment. I don't really know Mr. Leonhart very well, he's not a very… social type of person… but I do know that he works as a reporter for the Timber Maniacs, our local newspaper. If you'd like, we have copies in-"

"Not really."

"Oh," the man said, looking disappointed. "Right."

"Hey, Seifer," a stern female voice suddenly interrupted from behind the blond. "Just drop it already, will you? You're being ridiculous."

Impatiently, Quistis brushed past her friend and slapped the fax paper with the room reservation confirmation on the desk.

"Excuse my partner's temper. Must be the sun, it's quite hot today," she smiled sweetly, not paying any attention to the deadly glint that came alight in Seifer's eyes. "We're SeeDs from Balamb Garden, and we have pending reservations for two rooms for tonight. The names are Quistis Trepe, Irvine Kinneas and Seifer Almasy."

"Oh!"

The man's face illuminated with a broad, knowing smile that left little room to ponder the question of whether or not he had come across at least one of those names before.

He had.

"You're _the_ Almasy! I didn't realize. My dearest apologies! Is there anything else I can be of service with, madam and gentlemen?"

Before Seifer could have opened his mouth in order to begin another round of nosy questions concerning that guy Leonhart, Quistis silenced him efficiently by digging the sharp heel of her knee-high boots into the leather-clad top of his left foot.

"Ow! Damn, Quisty, what the fuck?"

Well, perhaps he wasn't quite so efficiently silenced after all, but it would do.

"Nothing, thank you," she replied blithely to the clerk's question, giving him a sweet smile while ignoring Seifer's reproachful look. "Just the keys, please."

"Sure. I'll check for your room numbers right away, Miss Trepe. Just a moment, please."

Quistis continued to beam at him. "Thank you so much."

Next to her, Seifer was still groaning in pain, but Quistis simply rolled her eyes at him and placed her hands on her narrow hips. She looked exceptionally menacing when assuming that pose, and she was fully aware of it, too.

"What's gotten into you?" she snapped. "You can't just prance around and interrogate people like that! What's the matter with you, Seifer?"

"I wasn't 'interrogating' anyone," her companion drawled, while flexing his bruised toes inside his boot. "Just, ugh... asking some questions."

"Well, quit it. It's really rude. We've got a reputation to live up to, in case you forgot! Go get Irvy and our bags, you know, do something productive?"

"Yes, grand Mistress," he bit with a sneer, but he did indeed turn around and trudged towards the door to collect his own bag as well as Quistis', which had been placed neatly off to the side.

Irvine was still lingering in the same spot, his azure eyes sparkling with something that Seifer didn't much like and that he could only identify as amused curiosity.

"So?" Irvine beamed.

"So what?" he grunted back, looking pissed off.

"D'ya have his address so we can go beat the seven shades of blue outta him?" the cowboy asked, while performing a queer punching movement with his right fist.

It really was a good thing that Irvine's weapon of choice was an Exeter sniper rifle, because the most he would've ever erected from their enemies with his "skills" in martial arts would've been some hearty laughter.

"Very funny, Kinneas."

"Rats. I'll take that as a no."

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Your infinite wisdom never ceases to amaze me."

"I know," the cowboy grinned happily. "I'm special."

"Special doesn't even begin to describe it," his blond opposite joked. "Now how about you pack up your shit and follow me, wisecrack?"

"Aye, Sir," Irvine offered with a crisp salute. "By the way, about that guy…"

"What about him?" Seifer sighed.

"I didn't know you were into brunettes. I'll have to be on my guard tonight."

"...Why don't you just drop dead, Kinneas?"

By the time that they had made it back to the desk through their constant bickering, Quistis was already impatiently waving two golden key chains in front of their faces. She did try to conceal the fact that the chains were shaped in the forms of steam locomotives, but of course that was a rather futile venture as she was bound to hand at least one of them over to the guys.

Strangely enough though, Seifer didn't blow any fuses at the sight. Quite contrary, he seemed much entangled in his thoughts, which was a very rare sight where Seifer was concerned.

"Seif, are you okay?" Quistis finally asked. "I didn't mean to, you know, seriously _hurt_ your foot or anything."

"What?" Seifer's head snapped up, and he met her concerned gaze with a rather vacant look of his own. "Oh. Nah. No worries."

He handed the frowning young woman her bag, and he snatched a key from her without actually looking at it once.

"Room 217. Second floor, you two," she explained. "I'm in room 19, on the first floor."

"Bah," Irvine huffed. "Of course, _we_ have to hurl our stuff all the way up there. I remember well why we haven't been to this place in years."

Quistis smiled evilly, an expression that was rather unfamiliar to her stern features.

"So sorry, dear. But hey, it'll build muscles, and if that fails too, at least it'll build character."

"Oh, right, you just make fun of me," Irvine growled, while jabbing his thumb in the general direction of Seifer. "You don't have to room with _him_. He snores _and_ he farts, sometimes even simultaneously!"

Much to Irvine's disappointment, Seifer didn't respond to the insult with one of his typical, sly remarks. The cowboy exchanged confused looks with Quistis, who merely gave a helpless shrug. Comprehending their brusque friend had never been either of their strengths, and Seifer usually chose not to elaborate on his moods, short of a sarcastic comment, of course.

Hence, they couldn't exactly do much but follow the blond's lead past the hotel's fancy (and completely pointless) railway crossing gate and up the stairs, only to part on the first floor.

"I'll meet you in the lobby in a few," Quistis waved them off. "We should get some dinner or something."

"Good idea, I'm starving. What about you, Seif?"

The blond regarded him with a blank gaze, snorting, "Hmph?"

"Oh Hyne, it grunts! Amazing! Quisty, quick, take a picture!"

Again, the blond SeeD didn't heed his brunette companion with the smallest of replies, and it begun to slightly worry the latter. What the heck was wrong with Seifer all of a sudden?

While Quistis vanished somewhere in a random hallway, the two men pushed further up the stairway and all across the second floor, until they had finally found room number 217. Seifer opened the door with a click of the lock, and they entered a small suite that was bright and friendly in nature and even had a little balcony. One wall was decorated with an intricate technical design of metal, lamps and wires, and of course it had a railway theme going just like the rest of the hotel did.

"Look, Seifer." Irvine tried again to coax a reaction out of his friend. "Trains."

But Seifer merely considered him with a vague wave of his hand, before dropping his duffel bag next to one of the beds and flopping down upon the mattress heavily. Absent-mindedly, he shook a cigarette out a pack that he produced from the pocket of his coat, and he lit it without paying any heed to the fact that there was no ash tray around. Then he swiped his legs off the ground and placed them on the bed, dirty boots and everything.

Deep down, Irvine heaved a sigh of despair.

"Yo, Seif," he finally murmured. "Tell me something, will ya."

The cowboy arranged himself at the foot of Seifer's bed, tipping his hat into his neck a bit to fix his friend with an intent look out of cerulean blue eyes. The blond glanced back at him lazily, every now and then parting his lips to suck smoke from his cigarette and whiff it back out through his nose coolly.

"Tell you what?" he eventually responded.

"Why you're so upset over that brat from earlier, for starters."

Seifer furrowed his handsome face, and he breathed a single snort of laughter.

"Who says I'm upset?"

Irvine cocked his head, grimacing. "You look the part."

"Maybe I'm just sick of seeing your ugly face?" Seifer shot back.

"Oh, I see how it is. Well, I can go and look for that little icicle of yours, then you can room with him and we'll all be happy campers. Problem solved."

"Right. Or I can just throw your ass off the balcony. Problem solved."

The cowboy stared at his friend for a few long moments, before sighing, "You're hopeless. Completely hopeless. I give up."

Grumbling under his breath, Irvine decided to leave Seifer be and rooted through his bag instead, searching for a fresh amethyst hued shirt that he knew accentuated the color of his eyes. After all, there _were_ ladies in this town, and he figured that if they'd really go out for dinner to the local bar, he might as well use the opportunity to check out the local "goods".

"You coming to dinner?" he asked in a muffled voice, while yanking the shirt over his head after he had worked his way out of his dirty one.

"Nah," Seifer replied with a grunt, shaking his head.

"Really? You sure? You haven't had anything to eat since lunchtime."

"Positive."

"Mind if I ask why?" Irvine asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yep, I do."

"Aww, man. You're breaking my heart here, Seif."

That comment did earn him a smirk from Seifer's lips, and while the blond flicked his ash to the stretch of floor between their beds, Irvine studied him very carefully.

Seifer wasn't one to brood, he never had been, yet brooding was exactly what he was currently doing. It was surprising enough that he wasn't still raging over what had happened; usually, his temper was lethal once aroused, and it wasn't easily calmed, either.

Still, something told him that he wasn't going to receive an explanation for this change in Seifer's behaviour, no matter just how persistently he'd pry.

"Alright then," he gave in. "Quisty and I will be at the bar. If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"U-hu."

"So long then, buddy! I'm off to ride into the sunset."

"Laters," the blond in bed chuckled, "Freakshow."

As soon as the cowboy had left the room, Seifer's features snapped back into the same frown that had been shading his face ever since Irvine's "I didn't know you were into brunettes"-comment. Seifer couldn't even quite say what bothered him so much about that joke. He had never made a secret of the fact that he took a liking to both guys and girls alike, but it still irritated him that anyone could possibly believe that he had found the slate-eyed stranger named Squall attractive.

Well, he _had_ found him pretty easy on the eyes, but that was really beside the point.

Quite frankly, even if he would've felt inclined to respond to Irvine's earlier questions, he wouldn't have known how to go about it. He had no idea at all why he was upset, or why he couldn't stop pondering about his odd encounter with Squall-whoeverthefuck-Leonhart.

Seriously, the kid hadn't been all _that_, and even if he had been, what sort of difference would it have made in the first place? All in all, the brunette had looked about as enticing as a couple of frost boils.

And still…

_'Hm...'_

Quietly, Seifer stared at the cigarette stub that he held loosely between his right middle- and index finger, and at its ash that was glinting faintly in a soft, orange light.

He really didn't like this.

Regardless of how interesting or pretty the brunette had essentially been, this just wasn't right. It shouldn't concern him how some stranger had looked at him, nor should it matter in the least what sort of stupid scar the guy had on his forehead. Seifer had never seen the boy before, and chances were, he was also never going to see him again. Squall Leonhart was just another random run-in, one nobody out of many, so who even gave a fuck?

"…"

He didn't like the answer to that question, either.

In fact, he didn't like it at all.

Groaning, he snapped into an upright position and stood up from his bed in one fluid motion. Carelessly, he tossed the cigarette butt into one of the tin trash containers, shrugged out of his trench coat and moved to stand by the balcony for a while. When he passed one of the tables in their room, however, he halted in his steps.

"Well, well, well. And what do we have here?"

Arching his golden eyebrows in mild interest, he gazed upon the glossy cover of a magazine that read "Timber Maniacs" in bright red letters. Seifer couldn't help but recall what the hotel clerk had mentioned about Squall Leonhart's occupation, and he picked up the magazine with a repulsed look on his face. Honestly, the last thing he felt like doing was to sit down and read this hick town's newspaper.

... But as usual, his curiosity got the better of him.

He sank into one of the armchairs that had been placed around the table, and then he begun flipping through the Timber Maniacs' pages carelessly. There wasn't anything that actually looked noteworthy to him, and he was already about to ditch the paper for the sake of finding something more interesting to do, when his attention was suddenly snared by a fairly long article that was accompanied by a large, colored picture.

Cocking his head aside and leaning back in his chair, Seifer raised the page closer to his eyes. The image showed a skinny brunette teen sitting at a table with an important looking man in a pinstriped suit, and though the dark haired guy was wearing a baseball cap that was pulled low into his face, Seifer could still identify him as that little smartass Squall Leonhart. He actually knew the other man, too. Unless he was seriously mistaken, it was Timber's mayor Melvin Carter.

With piqued interest, Seifer now glanced at the article itself, which had been titled "Independence At Last?".

"Independence?" he chortled in amusement. "Independence my rosy ass cheeks."

As Seifer had already been expecting, the article was centered about the ever on-going discussion over Timber's independence from the empire of Galbadia. Of course, said discussions were nothing but a big pile of horse shit, at least in Seifer's opinion. It was foolish to believe that a city like Timber needed or could even afford independency, and everyone except for the members of the local resistance factions understood that Timber would never be able to break from Galbadia, no matter how earnestly they'd try. The town was way too small, had no control over a militia, and it was simply too important of a reloading point for the empire to lose.

Still, according to this particular article that had been written by a journalist named "S.L." (which Seifer could only guess to mean Squall Leonhart), mayor Carter was in the midst of heavy negotiations with Vinzer Deling himself.

"Now, dear Squally boy, either you're a liar like most of your trade, or you're just a particularly stupid little fuck," Seifer mused, while skimming over the lines and glancing back at the picture every now and then.

It was most obvious that President Deling currently (and always) had much better things to do than sit down with Carter and discuss such trivial matters as the improbable independence of Timber. Hence, it was pretty safe to assume that either Leonhart or Carter had made the story up, and though the idea didn't bother Seifer all too much, it certainly did cause him to wonder yet again what type of person that Squall guy actually was.

Something about the brunette had struck him as very deceptive from the beginning, and he seriously found himself debating whether the youth was possibly naïve enough to believe in liberty for his home town. In the end, Seifer came to the conclusion that Leonhart was most likely only trying sell his silly story by all means necessary.

Typical reporter scum.

"Oh well. Like I care."

Shrugging, Seifer flicked the magazine back onto the table. He definitely had no deeper interest in either this paper boy or his ambitions, whichever they might be. Should the kid make up as many stories as he wanted, it was none of the SeeD's concern. Seifer had plenty of other things to get himself worked up over if he'd ever feel the inclination to do so.

That said, he suddenly realized that despite what he had told Irvine a little while ago, he was starting to feel sort of hungry, which was no real surprise considering that he hadn't eaten anything in over four hours. The prospect of a dinner with his friends was distinctly more appealing than the concept of spending the rest of his evening cooped up in his hotel room. Hence, he forced himself to squash any notion concerning that Leonhart kid and lightly leaped upon his feet.

Since it was still light and warm outside, he decided against putting on his trench coat, but he didn't change out of his long-sleeved black shirt as he had originally planned to. It wasn't like he'd be staying out all that long, anyway.

Thus, he snatched his wallet and the key that Irvine had left behind, wasted a few seconds on a quick glance into the mirror in their bathroom and finally left their room without spending another thought on the Timber Maniacs or his moody hotel lobby encounter, Squall Leonhart.


	6. Whatever

**The Devil's Own**

-Chapter 5: Whatever-

Timber was as happily unassuming as Seifer had remembered it to be from his last visit, which, quite truthfully, had been quite a while ago. He hadn't traveled through Timber and actually lingered in the town in well over two or three years. Essentially, he was nineteen years old now, and ever since his inauguration as a SeeD at age sixteen he had paid Timber such a small number of visits that he could have counted them off using just one hand.

Quite frankly, Timber wasn't a town that was particularly friendly towards the military.

Anyone who had never seriously bothered with the studies of politics and military history would have probaby laughed at the idea of resistance factions operating in this small town, but quite on the contrary, they very much existed. The members of said tightly knit terrorist groups were not to take lightly either, and despite countless attempts of excavating or infiltrating them, very few of the rebels were ever actually caught.

They operated from the shadows, raising fear all over the Galbadian empire. Some of their acts were more or less bloody than others, and though they generally refrained from plotting attacks that would overly endanger innocent bystanders, there was still a large number of politicians, military officers and civilians alike that had fallen victim to the underground resistance of little postcard town Timber.

If there was one thing that Seifer had learned well throughout the length of his career, it was to never trust the outward appearance of anything or anyone.

Yet, as he paced evenly through the steadily depleting streets in the gentle glow of the settling evening sun, he wondered how so many things in this unassuming little town had managed to go so terribly wrong.

Then again, it had never been his job to question why things happened the way they did. He simply made people deal with the consequences of their actions. _That_ was his job, and he was damn good at it, too.

Lightly, he jumped down the narrow stone stairway that led to the only bar that Timber had to its name, and he rejoiced in the idea of a warm dinner to stuff the uncomfortable hole in his stomach.

Pushing the door to the beer palace ajar, he turned up his nose at the stale whiff of air that hit him in the face. Really, whenever would these cave dwellers comprehend the usage of air conditioners, or plain old windows for that matter?

But hell with it.

He took a couple of steps inside, halting only to allow his eyes to adjust to the different lighting in the establishment. The bar smelled of fried food and cheap wine, but quite honestly, Seifer had visited much worse establishments and eaten there all the same. As a matter of fact, they served fairly decent meals at this place, and that was pretty much all that he cared for.

Screening his smoke-laden surrounding for a sign of his friends, Seifer's fleeting gaze came to an abrupt halt when his eyes locked with the shadowed outline of a figure in a faraway corner. Hadn't it been for the flickering light of a laptop screen granting wry and random glimpses of the person's face, Seifer wouldn't even have bothered to waste a second glance. However, with a certain man's reflection still fiercely imprinted into his memory, the SeeD's attention was only too easily snared.

The moment that Seifer had recognized the lonely brunette figure that was irritably typing away on the keyboard in front of him, there was no holding the blond back. Sure enough, he even stormed straight past the table occupied by his friends Irvine and Quistis, not even acknowledging their presence.

Quistis and Irvine, on the other hand, had spotted Seifer the moment he had set foot into the bar, but before either could have called out his name, he had already charged past them with the disturbing determination of a raging bull. Quistis' head whipped around immediately, following Seifer's trail and estimating his destination. When her cobalt blue eyes fell on the small framed brunette male in the back, she cringed.

"Oh no. Oh no, no no."

With interest, Irvine tipped his cowboy hat into his neck and canted his chair to be able to look past his female companion. Quistis had lowered her face into her hand by then, groaning as if under the influence of a terrible migraine. About a split second later, Irvine had figured out why.

"Oh, shit."

"He's gonna kill him," Quistis sighed. "He's gonna kill him, I know it."

"Shall we stop him? Think that was blood thirst I saw in his eyes, or madness, not sure. Either way, I'm a little concerned. Whaddaya say?"

"… I'm going."

While Quistis leaped onto her feet, Seifer had reached the back of the bar. He stood tall and menacing before a four-seat table, glowering at the dark haired young man that had assumed a comfortable seating position behind his laptop and a large bowl of soup and bread. Said youth was now snapping a gaze of pure annoyance to the man at his side, slanting his fine features with entirely unconcealed hostility.

They were measuring their strength silently, a mute duel of death-glares that was unexpectedly interrupted by someone yanking at Seifer's arm rather demandingly.

"Seifer!"

There was only one person in all of Galbadia (and probably beyond) that managed to grind out Seifer's name with such frightening venom in their voice. It was as unpleasant as fingernails on a chalk board, and there was no doubt concerning as to who it belonged to.

"Quisty. What the _fuck_?"

The female had clawed her slender fingers into his biceps, determined to pull her friend away by pure force and under the curious stares of all other guests in the bar if need be. Meanwhile, Seifer's new and current arch nemesis, the brunette named Squall Leonhart, had already returned his attention to his laptop.

"Come on," Quistis hissed, scowling at her taller friend. "We're sitting back there. Leave him alone."

"I'll be there in a minute," Seifer replied with a growl and swiping his arm out of Quistis' keep effortlessly. "Don't fucking worry, I ain't gonna kill him. So go ahead, you can leave."

"But-"

"Goddamn Quisty, what part of '_leave_' didn't you understand!"

Her frown only gained in strength at his rudeness, but she was also hurt in her pride, as usual. He would apologize later, he always did, but that never stopped him from being mean to her again if he felt the need to.

It was upsetting, really, and it made being friends with Seifer no easier.

"You're such a stupid prick, Seifer," she snapped, not without an insulted tone to her voice, before whisking around and striding back to her table.

"Tsk," Seifer snorted, turning his gaze upwards. "Women."

Seifer had crossed his arms before his chest, shifting his weight onto his left foot and resuming to glare down upon his 'enemy'. The brunette, however, seemed rather versed at ignoring his environment, and he continued typing away on his laptop and sipping faintly crimson liquid out of a glass bottle without acknowledging Seifer with a single glance.

"What the fuck is your problem, anyway?" Seifer tried to catch the youth's attention. "I mean who are you, huh, the ice princess of Timber or something?"

Squall Leonhart's storm blue irises finally did narrow and turned upwards to bore into Seifer's green ones. The comparison of the brunette to royal frostiness really hadn't been too far fetched – his gaze held enough chill to freeze fire over.

Seifer merely snorted. The first time around, Squall had caught him by surprise with those cold blue eyes. This time, the blond SeeD wouldn't so much as blink under their hard stare.

"Well?"

The brunette turned in his seat, bringing one arm up on the back of his bench with a sigh and cocking his head ever so gently.

"What is this supposed to be?" he asked, his tone hard. "You trying to apologize again? I'm not holding a grudge, so don't waste your time or mine."

With that, he resumed his original position and the work he had been doing, also returning his eyes to the flickering light of the screen. For a second, Seifer had to bite down the urge to hurt this dumb little fuck, but as he cracked his knuckles in the creation of two rock-hard fists, he drew his lips into an arrogant smirk, chuckling with greatest self-assurance.

"You're really something, flapping your big mouth like that," he sneered. "You probably have no idea who you're talking to, kid."

"SeeD," Squall observed nonchalantly, not even bothering with a shrug. "Only SeeDs strut around like you do, thinking the world's always at their service."

One way or another, this kid was certainly stringing what little patience Seifer possessed. Usually, people would pay at least some respect to his trade, and be it simply out of fear due to SeeD's collaboration with the government.

Something about this Leonhart guy sure was odd.

"I could arrest you for your insolence."

Those words seemed to exercise little threat on the brunette, though. Squall shrugged, looking unimpressed, his eyes still glued to the object in front of him instead of the man at his side. His slender fingers danced across the keyboard with swift elegance, causing Seifer's head to spin merely from watching. As the young journalist finally vocalized a response, it wasn't what Seifer had expected.

"Whatever."

Whatever?

_'… Right.'_

Very slowly, Seifer's dangerous frown smoothed out.

Yeah, actually 'whatever' summed this up pretty well.

To hell and back with that stupid lil hick. He wasn't even worth a minute of Seifer's time. In fact, the blond found himself wondering why he had even bothered to approach Squall Leonhart again in the first place. That guy possessed no common sense or manners, and Seifer certainly wouldn't be able to talk them into him, he understood that much. Perhaps, if the brunette had actually shown some form of remorse over his behaviour, _perhaps_ Seifer would have taken the trouble of maybe getting to know him a little bit better; after all, the kid _was_ sort of intriguing - in a stubborn, irritating kind of way.

This, however, was ridiculous. Seifer had more interesting things to do than argue with a meaningless Timber punk that was feeling lucky.

"Nah, forget it," he grunted with a careless kind of arrogance as he turned away, flapping one hand abjectly. "You're not worth my time, sunshine. In fact, you're not worth _anything._"

And as he walked away with a powerful stride to retreat to Irvine's and Quistis' table, he didn't even see how the brunette's gaze flicked up silently, staring at the back of the disappearing SeeD with an air that was entirely implacable. Then, Squall took two harsh gulps of his cranberry juice, setting the bottle down upon the table with more force than was necessary.

When he erased everything he had been typing since Seifer's arrival, his hands trembled only slightly.


	7. Between Hope And Fear

**The Devil's Own**

-Chapter 6: Between Hope And Fear-

Squall Leonhart had left the bar early that night. He had finished neither his food nor the article he had been working on; his mind had continuously wandered off, leaving him without any means to focus. It had been downright impossible to accomplish anything at all. Thus, he had decided to give up on his article for the day, paid his meal and walked out the door without acknowledging that dumb ogre of a SeeD with another glance or thought.

After all, he had decided, returning home early was probably a smart idea. He still had a lot to prepare for the coming days, and he was bound to get little sleep that night.

Then again, he never got much sleep to begin with.

Meanwhile, Seifer Almasy's mind had turned out to be almost as haywire as Squall's. The blond had apologized to Quistis for his rudeness and then eaten dinner with his friends, though all three of them had spent their meal mostly in silence. The thought of getting wasted on cheap wine had become almost too tempting for Seifer, but in the end, the SeeD had successfully restrained himself.

Quite honestly, the last thing he felt inclined to deal with was another train ride with a headache, or worse, a hang-over.

All in all, the evening had passed quickly, and soon enough Seifer found himself in his bed in their hotel room, trying to fall asleep against Irvine's incessant snoring and the terrible mess that was his thoughts. The blond had been laying awake and staring at the ceiling for a while already, brooding alone in the darkness. His thoughts would constantly return to Squall; to those cold blue eyes that seemed to see right through him, and the raw, directionless anger that they always managed to erect deep within him.

Anger that even Seifer didn't understand.

Quite frankly, the young SeeD knew nothing about the brunette except for his profession and his name. He had no idea why he even _cared_ to know more about him in the first place, but he _did_, and he found that realization rather troublesome.

This wasn't a crush or something puberal like that, was it?

_'Fuck no.' _

Snorting into his chocobo feather pillow as he flipped onto his stomach, he mentally affirmed himself that he didn't give half a damn about the brunette, not only because he neither had the time nor the energy to care. What was there to _care_ about, anyway? Leonhart was just some random journalist chump that he'd most likely never see again once he'd leave this sorry excuse for a town. Granted, the kid was hot and all, but there were tons of other guys like him, and girls too for that matter.

... Or were there?

_'For Hyne's sake, YES! Fuck yes, there are! Now shut the fuck up already and lemme sleep! Goddamned good for nothing brain.' _

And indeed, after brute forcing any thought or memory related to Squall into the dim shadows of his mind, Seifer soon dozed off into a light slumber, aroused only periodically by Irvine snoring or talking in his sleep.

Meanwhile, at the other end of town, a lone figure was leaning out of a window and into the night, allowing the cool breeze to catch in the silky strands of his chocolate brown hair and ruffle them silently. He rested his head in the crook of his arms, dark blue eyes screening the indigo skies for nothing at all as he listened to the quiet of his breathing.

He didn't know what was going on. He didn't understand. Three hours of preparing for their trip to Deling City, and he had _still_ found himself incapable of ruling his encounters with the SeeD Seifer Almasy out of his head.

Oh yes, Squall knew perfectly well whom he had been faced with twice that day. The tall, cocky blond SeeD had been on the news countless times; him and his father, Galbadian General Erick Almasy, were something along the lines of "celebrities".

Sighing, Squall closed his eyes and suppressed a fit of shivers that threatened to ripple through his muscles at the chill of the air.

_'Why am I even thinking about him? And why am I feeling so... lonely? I don't like this. I don't like this at all. This isn't like me. I don't understand.' _

This wasn't the first night that the brunette youth was overcome by a feeling of incompleteness, a feeling that he just didn't belong - to nothing, or nobody. However, he could not remember that the impression had ever been so forceful and crushing in nature. Squall Leonhart wasn't one to pity himself; perhaps he wasn't happy, but his life could have been much worse. After all, he had a purpose, loyal friends and a sister that loved him dearly.

And still...

_Something_ was missing. There was a hole in heart that he had never been able to fill, simply because he didn't know what it would take. Eventually, he had simply grown tired of chasing after shadows of fragile emotions and fragmented childhood memories.

_'It's all so pointless. I don't even know what I'm looking for.'_

This time, his body did shake. Bristling against the wind, Squall retreated into his room and closed the window, almost hoping that that act would shut out the aching feeling in his chest, too.

It didn't.

"Squall? Sweetie? What are you doing?"

He turned quickly, surprise echoing from the fathomless blue depths of his eyes. It was unusual for anyone to be able to step up to him unnoticed, yet here he was faced with the slender figure of his sister, Ellone, who was unsurely standing in the middle of his bedroom. To her right and left piled magazines, books and a strange array of wires and electronic devices, neatly sorted in an order that she would never understand.

She did understand what the grey duffel bag at the foot of Squall's bed meant, though.

"So... you're really going," she observed quietly.

The brunette shifted uneasily. Cold hearted and careless as he might have seemed or been, seeing the sadness swirl in his older sister's kind eyes always made him falter inwardly. There was no accusation to be read from the fine lines of her beautiful face, but all the same, there was regret.

Regret for the person that he had become.

"Yes, I am," Squall finally replied, casting his gaze to the ground in a display of awkward helplessness. "I have to."

"No," she objected bitterly, shaking her head even though she knew her younger brother could not see the gesture. "No you don't, and neither do Zell or Selphie! This is foolish, Squall!"

He sighed, subconsciously rubbing at the scar on his forehead like he always did when he was stressed and looking for some form of comfort. This right here was probably the most difficult part of his life, and finally looking at Ell's face again surely didn't make him feel any better, either.

Ellone was suffering, and he could hardly take it.

Though the young woman was six years older than Squall, she knew painfully well that she could not stop him, no matter how dearly she wished to be able to. She was sad and she was angry, but most of all, she was worried.

"Some day, someone will get hurt, Squall," she pressed, her voice shaking slightly. "Some day... you won't come back."

"I'll always come back," he tried to assure her, though the uncomfortable edge to his tone and the distant glow in his eyes openly belied that statement.

He could not make her believe what he did not believe in himself.

"Liar," Ell whispered, hurt swaying the word, but she slowly walked up to him and drew him into her arms all the same.

She held him silently, brushing her long fingers through his hair much like she had done when Squall had still been a child - young, innocent and oblivious to the evil that surrounded him. There had been a time when the brunette had actually been careless. When he had been happy.

But Squall was no longer a child, and she knew that he hadn't been happy in a long time.

Maybe part of this was her fault, too. Maybe she should have known better, even if she herself had merely been a child back then, seeking to comfort a small brunette against the greatest of pains he had ever had to endure. She had made a choice back then, over ten years ago, and she could not simply take it back. She was reminded of it every day, painfully so, but today was worse than any day before.

And he had no idea.

"Don't worry, sis," Squall tried clumsily as he slowly backed away from her, trying to force his lips into a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."

She measured the firmness in his voice silently, revealing it as yet another clumsy attempt at telling her anything just to make her feel better. He was incredibly cute that way, especially since the habit of soothing her didn't fit his general attitude at all. Many would easily mistake Squall for a cold hearted bastard, but Ell and Squall's friends knew better than that.

He was sensible, he was noble, and he was kind. But he would hide those desirable traits beneath an exterior that was hard, distant and unfriendly - always afraid to be moved by anything or anyone without really knowing why.

Hyne, how she blamed herself.

"Sorry I couldn't eat dinner with you tonight," she suddenly broke the silence between them. "Eddy told me you were looking for me."

He shook his head immediately. "It's fine. I know you were busy."

She studied his handsome face very closely, searching it for something very particular, but as usual his arcane features would give away nothing.

"He also said you had a run-in with one of the guests," she continued, the vagueness in her inflection deliberate.

Squall nodded reluctantly, and though a sharp glow came alight in his eyes for only a split second, Ellone caught on it all the same. Yes, there was definitely something different about Squall, just as she had expected.

Just as she had feared.

"Is everything okay now?" she asked, her voice soft and tainted with only a slight trace of woe.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, he was just a dumb, cocky SeeD," Squall explained reluctantly. "That Seifer Almasy guy is a complete idiot. He doesn't know who I am."

"That's not what I meant, Squall."

He arched his eyebrows, confusion writhing his features to his usual frown as he tried to decipher the pregnant tone to his sister's words. His cover hadn't been blown, him and the "Predators" were safe - what else could possibly be of importance?

"Then what _did_ you mean?" he inquired calmly.

She recognized the faint drizzle of suppressed curiosity to his question, but once again she was conquered by her fears and her shame. This was not the right time to be telling him.

The right time had come to pass years ago.

"I'm not so sure myself..." she murmured, the words trailing off as her expression became blank and distant. "I guess it's nothing. I'm sorry, Squall."

He nodded absent-mindedly, raking his fingers through his hair before placing his hand on his right hip and shifting his weight onto one foot.

"It's late. You should go to bed," he stated matter-of-factly.

Ellone giggled lightly at the brunette's typical seriousness, haphazardly pushing back the shadows that haunted her. Her seventeen year old brother was more grown-up than she would probably ever be, and though that realization came with a bitter aftertaste, she did think that Squall had turned out quite nicely.

"I'm fine, sweetie. I'm off work tomorrow, remember?" she said. "But you have to get up early if your train is leaving at 9:00 in the morning. Wake me up and say good-bye before you leave, okay?"

"I will."

"Okay," she approved with a nod, before placing a kiss on the brunette's forehead. "Be careful, please. I don't want anything to happen to you, Squall, you hear me? Don't take any unnecessary risks."

"I won't."

"Okay..." Ellone sighed, not entirely convinced. "Well, good night then, little brother."

"Good night," he replied chastely.

And while Squall resumed staring into the now black and star strewn skies through the spotless glass of his window, Ellone left the room as quietly as she had entered it, silently praying to Hyne that Squall would have to pay no further for her mistake.

Perhaps, she figured, it was time, after all. Time for her brother to find out what had really happened when he'd been only a child. Time for him to understand.

Perhaps he would be alright, for the first time in ten long years.

Perhaps he would never forgive her for what she had done...

But with greatest certainty, it was way too late for her to turn back.


	8. Hard Dawn

**The Devil's Own **

-Chapter 7: Hard Dawn-

_- Buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzzzzz! -_

"Meh! Alright, alright, I'm coming! Be right there! Just a sec!"

Heaving a quiet sigh of exasperation, Squall adjusted the position of his enormous duffel bag on his right shoulder. He was waiting calmly in front of a large, closed oak door from behind which a rather frantic voice had called out to his patience. At his back, the sun had already crept lazily across the horizon, streaking the sky with colors of dazzling gold and dulcet pink. It was 8:30am sharp, and Squall had already been awake for, well, the greater part of the day.

In fact, he never _had_ truly fallen asleep that night; too wound up over the upcoming events and his unsettling encounter with the SeeD Almasy, his mind and body had been unable to find rest. He had tossed and turned in his covers, jerking awake only minutes after sleep would finally take him over.

Under his breath, Squall sighed once more.

Saying good-bye to his sister been particularly difficult that morning, too. Ellone hadn't said much, only looked at him with those sad eyes of her's and seen him off at the door, placing the usual quiet kiss upon his forehead. She had been devastated without a doubt, and he could feel himself being wrecked by guilt.

Ellone had always been the one to take care of him – after all, he was the only family that she had - and though they were not actually related by blood, they were as close to each other as siblings could possibly be. They had both grown up at the same orphanage, always sticking together like sister and brother should, and as soon as Ell had turned eighteen she had grabbed Squall and taken him with her to Timber, where they had been living together ever since.

Frowning and glaring at the sleek wood in front of him, the dark haired journalist began to wonder just why he was brooding so much these days. Granted, he had always been on the thoughtful side, but the past night and this morning had been downright ridiculous. Quite honestly, Squall didn't exactly _enjoy_ to think of his past and childhood; though he had been treated very kindly by his matron, a woman named Edea Kramer, Squall could associate no truly happy memories with his young years at the orphanage.

Then again, how many "truly happy memories" did he actually have to begin with?

Once more, a bitter scowl littered his calm, snow pale features.

_'Memories are just memories. Pictures of the past burned into our minds. That's all. They do nothing for us but haunt us. Memories... are useless.' _

Squall almost jumped when the door in front of him suddenly swung wide open, emitting a disheveled figure that stumbled forward into the street. The brunette managed to avoid the person only barely, and as he elegantly took a half-step to the side, his storm cloud colored eyes screened the frame of a boy that couldn't have been more unlike himself.

"Mm-hh! Umph... Squall! Yo!"

Panting heavily before Squall, his usually loud mouth stuffed with a huge homemade hot-dog, was a young spiky-haired blond that was the brunette's best friend and fellow "Predator". He was seventeen years old, just like Squall, though he was far less cool and collected for his age.

"You're late, Zell," Squall stated icily, and his eyes suggested murder.

After dropping the huge bag he had been clutching to his chest, Zell Dincht took a dry gulp of bread and sausage and pulled his handsome, tattoo-adorned features into an adorable, guilty frown. Squall had a way of drenching three simple, little words with so much coldness that even greater men than the blond teen would have been scared shitless. Luckily, Zell was all too used to the brunette's frigid temper, and he didn't think much of it anymore.

"But it's only 8:35!" he thus protested. "The train doesn't leave for another 30 minutes!"

"We still have to pick up Selphie. I told you to be ready at 8:30," Squall informed him with a tone that left little room for arguments.

Sighing in defeat, the jumpy blond heaved his shoulders. He hated to be scolded, particularly so if he knew that his leader and friend was all too right.

Zell was indeed a tad bit of a procrastinator, and he'd been late more than just once in the past.

_'But sheesh, could he be any more frightening? He oughta have a firearms license for those eyes. Hmm... he kinda looks tired, though. I bet he didn't get any sleep again last night.' _

Though he could indeed be accused of being a little unreliable at times, Zell was also a kind, good-hearted guy. Always cheerful and a bit on the hyperactive side, he cared deeply for the grumpy youth at his side. He knew that Squall was frequently haunted by nightmares - dark and frightening dreams evoked by a past that was more than just a little bit shady. Zell had awoken plenty of times during missions, finding Squall thrashing around in his bed and sobbing in his sleep. The brunette, however, would never talk to him about his worries unless he was drunk – a state in which Zell had only witnessed the dark haired teen once, when Squall's sister had been hurt in an accident.

Aside from being kind and caring, Zell was also a very gifted martial artist. He had mostly taught himself by learning from fighter's magazines ever since his childhood days, and now he was a viable member of the underground resistance faction commonly known as the "Predators" - a tight knit group of patriotic and rebel youths to which Squall Leonhart was the respective leader.

Squall, who had been nicknamed "The Lion" by other resistance faction members for his courage and ferocity, was a brilliant leader despite his commonly reclusive behavior. He knew well how to use his weapon of choice, a gunblade that was currently stowed away in the depths of his bag, and contrary to "Tiger" Zell he was also a brilliant user of magic. He was smart, thoughtful and charismatic in his own, arcane way - a reluctant leader at times, but a leader nonetheless.

Only fools would take Squall Leonhart lightly.

Standing still like a perfect statue, the brunette watched out of dark blue eyes how his friend somehow managed to close the door to his house and heave his traveling bag upon his shoulder.

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry," Zell gasped as he caught Squall's hard stare that was bare of any hint of patience, "I'm ready."

Squall said nothing, and instead turned around to proceed down the street to their other friend's house. His stride was quick and even, unaffected by the painfully heavy weight on his back.

At his rear, Zell had trouble keeping up.

"Man, I swear you ain't human, Squall," the blond groaned, trying to take another bite of the hot-dog in his hand while struggling not to trip over his own feet. "Fenioufly! Flow down!"

Zell had expected no response, and of course he received none. Thus, he reluctantly picked up his pace until he was walking by Squall's side. They marched down the empty streets until they stopped in front of a picturesque, cream colored house that was decorated with a vast array of the most colorful flowers one could find in all of Galbadia.

In a fit of wise precognition, Squall placed himself carefully off to the side of the door as he thumbed the button of Selphie Tilmitt's bell with a blank expression.

The scenario that unraveled before him was tiring and all too familiar.

"Eeeeek! Oh nooooo! I'm coming, I'm coming! Almost ready, guys!"

Sighing yet again, Squall fastened one hand around his hip, digging his fingers into the smooth black leather of his pants with thinly masked frustration.

He was so sick of this.

"She's worse than I am," Zell snickered at his side. "For real, you'd never think that the three of us are-"

"Shut up!" Squall cut him off immediately, causing Zell to shrivel under his venomous glare. "Idiot. We're outside."

"S-Sorry."

Contritely, Zell resumed to munch on his hot dog. Of course he knew that he had to watch his big mouth – after all, it had already gotten him into trouble on countless occasions. He remembered one mission in particular, when he had totally blown the Predators' cover during a careless flirt with a cute blonde girl at the beach of Balamb. He'd never forget Squall's reaction; he'd seen the brunette pissed off before, on countless occasions, but he'd never before feared for his life. That time, Zell had been unable to close his eyes for three days straight, too afraid that Squall would go and strangle him in his sleep.

The brunette sure had _looked _and _acted_ willing enough, considering he had willfully set Zell's masterful hairdo on fire with a firega spell.

"8:40," Squall curtly informed him, something very much like bloodlust glinting in his eyes.

"I'm sure she'll be right out," Zell muttered soothingly, hitching a grin upon his face. "Don't w-"

When Squall leveled his icy gaze with Zell's ever so slowly, the spunky blond immediately wiped the smirk off his face.

"I-I mean, how _dare_ her!" he quickly feigned outrage. "She's _so_-"

"Drop dead, Zell."

Screwing up his face, the young martial artist gawked at Squall's murderous expression and scratched his head.

"Man, aren't you cheerful today..."

"Mind your own business," the brunette snarled.

"But I just-"

Zell never got to finish that sentence, because Selphie's door suddenly flung open with a loud thud that caused numerous flower pots to quiver. A short, dark blonde girl in a summery yellow dress came bouncing down the steps, her curled up hair whipping into her face. In one hand she was clasping the handle of a huge, squeaky yellow suitcase, and it was needless to say that Squall immediately turned a nice shade of furious crimson at the sight.

"What's that?" he hissed tartly, jabbing his finger at her luggage, his brows raised to his hairline.

"Oh, that..." she beamed at him out of light green eyes, patting her suitcase fondly. "I ordered it from Deling City, isn't it neat?"

Judging by the way that Squall's eyebrow was twitching as if he was about to go into conniptions, the boy probably didn't think that "neat" was the most appropriate description for Selphie's latest acquisition. The brunette's dislike was of course impossible to miss, and Selphie frowned at him darkly.

"I paid 200 gil for it!" she declared, a note of hurt in her voice. "That's two _hundred_ gil, Squall!"

"I don't care! You're not taking that!" the brunette spat, his gale grey stare suitably venomous.

"Why _not_?" she replied shrilly.

"Because it's yellow, and it's bright, and... and how dim are you, anyway! Your stupid fucking suitcase draws more attention than you wearing a sign labeled 'terrorist' stapled to your fucking forehead! How long have you been with us that you can't even think of basic shit like this!" he gargled hotly under his breath, still desperate to keep his voice down.

Even Zell cringed at his rough words, but Selphie looked like she was at the verge of breaking out in tears. Squall had never been known to be the most sensible or tactful person on earth, and he could shatter hearts in the matter of seconds. He wasn't necessarily cruel, but his patience ran exceptionally thin.

Fortunately, Selphie wasn't half as delicate as she may have looked. After a first, initial moment of shock she drew a deep breath, dropped her 200 gil suitcase to the ground and fastened her tiny hands around her hips.

"You listen now! Just because _you two_ have the fashion sense of two ugly Grendels-"

"H-hey, keep me outta this," Zell muttered quietly.

"-doesn't mean that _I_ have run around with a nasty, _ugly_ brown bag like that, too!" Selphie revved up, her cheeks flushing. "Besides, we're supposed to look like regular reporters, aren't we? _I_ think I'm doing just fine, then! I'm _supposed_ to be fashionable!"

Groaning as if in immense pain, Squall buried his face in his gloved right hand. Just why exactly did departures before missions always have to cause him such a headache? Why couldn't his teammates just _listen_ to him for once? He _was_ their leader after all, or wasn't he? What the hell about that was so difficult to understand?

As much as he would have preferred to work on his own, he was painfully aware of the fact that missions of this extent could impossibly be carried out by just one person alone. And though childish and irresponsible the other two Predators might have been, they were also skilled fighters, and "Cheetah" Selphie had a talent of hacking into any computer ever created by mankind. She had learned from her older brother, a former resistance faction member and weapons freak by the name of Watts, and as much as the concept currently bothered him, Squall knew well enough that he could not leave the dark blonde girl behind.

Needless to say, Selphie knew this, too.

"Fine," Squall finally growled irritably, dropping his hand back to his side with a snap. "Take the damn thing. We don't have enough time to keep arguing."

Indeed, it was almost 8:50 and they would have to hurry to the station in order to actually catch their train. Luckily, they had already purchased their tickets way beforehand.

Entirely satisfied with herself, Selphie grabbed her suitcase and stuck her tongue out at Squall the moment he had turned his back on her.

"I saw that," the brunette's voice stated acidly.

"No, you didn't!" she bristled, watching him suspiciously from behind. "You can't have."

"Whatever."

Quickly, she went to close the door to her house, which she shared with her brother, and she charged after the already disappearing figures of Zell and Squall. Obviously, the two males weren't quite in the mood for a display of chivalry.

Not that she needed it, or anything.

Granted, by the time they had made their way to the station, her new suitcase had become kind of heavy. She quickly decided not to take quite so many dresses and shoes on their next mission – she had actually had a difficult time cramming her laptop and all of her "special accessories" into her suitcase this morning.

As she finally caught up with the guys near the train, which had already boarded at the station and seemed to only be waiting for the conductor's last whistle, something other than Zell dropping his last bits of hot dog on accident suddenly caught her attention.

"-did, too!"

"Fucking can it, Kinneas!"

"I'm telling you-"

"Oh _shut up_, both of you! My goodness, will you never grow up?"

Selphie's ears perked up at the sound of three loud voices - two males and one female - and she turned around curiously, brushing her hair behind her ear.

At the other end of their track, preparing to board the train, was a group of young people around her age. All of them were heavily loaded with luggage of their own, and the two guys were bickering at each other rather noisily. One of them was very tall and lean, clad in a long suede coat and a cowboy hat that mostly hid his face from view. The other male was practically as tall but more bulky in his built, and at second glance, Selphie recognized his sun bronzed features with a start.

"Squall," she whispered excitedly, repeatedly prodding her brunette leader into the side with her sharp elbow. "Look! Isn't that Seifer Almasy? The famous SeeD from Balamb?"

Squall flicked his storm grey gaze up instantly, snapping it to the brawny blond figure at the end of the platform. His eyes darkened a shade or two, and his lips curved downwards. He had told neither Zell nor Selphie about his encounters with Almasy, but of course they knew his face from the news.

Everyone did.

"Hey man, that really is him," Zell muttered, before Squall had even had a chance to reply. "What's he doing here in Timber?"

"They're SeeDs," Squall explained reluctantly. "On their way to parade duty, most likely."

He cast his eyes down again to look at the tickets he was holding, checking for the number of their assigned compartment. He could feel his head starting to ache again. Of course, he should have figured that Almasy and his SeeD buddies would be taking the same train to Deling City. It wasn't necessarily a big deal either, since the Predators could claim a virtually flawless cover, but something about this particular SeeD was unsettling Squall more than he figured it should have. The fact that he didn't understand this feeling at all wasn't making it any better.

At the other end of the track, Seifer Almasy had halted in his childish banter with Irvine Kinneas the moment he had laid eyes upon the stiff, dark haired figure that was so engrossed in studying his train tickets, or whatever else it was that he was holding on to. The blond SeeD cocked his head aside just slightly, sudden interest glaring in the rich, emerald depths of his eyes.

Sure enough, he thought, that slender brunette dressed all in form hugging black leather and shouldering a huge duffel bag was none other than Timber Maniacs reporter Squall Leonhart. Even at a distance, Seifer could see that the youth's skin seemed paler over his his fine features than it had done the day before. Squall looked tired and stressed.

Apparently, Timber's newspaper was dispatching employees for the parade, and this brunette journalist in particular didn't seem pleased.

"Hey, look!" Irvine's cheerful voice suddenly cut in, curiosity seeping into the words. "Isn't that frosty boy over there?"

"I believe it is," Quistis said flatly. "Seifer, don't even think about-"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a knot," the tall blond grunted abjectly. "Like I give a fuck."

As if to demonstrate his utter indifference, Seifer tore his gaze away from the brunette and brusquely pushed inside the train. Quite frankly, he hadn't expected to run into that backwater hick yet again, and this third encounter came as a bit of a surprise. For a moment, Seifer wondered who the short girl and the blond guy at Leonhart's side had been. Friends? Co-workers? A happy merry threesome?

_'Like I give a rat's ass.' _

Shrugging, he didn't even wait for Quistis and Irvine before he inserted his ticket into the reading machine and entered their reserved compartment. Of course, his friends were close behind him, and they found Seifer's erratic behavior quite intriguing.

"What's with him?" Quistis asked quietly. "Is he still upset?"

"Oh, if I know. He won't tell me," Irvine answered with a slight upturn of his shoulders. "If ya ask me, Seifer's got the hots for him."

"What? For who? You mean for that dark haired guy?" she whispered, eyebrows raised. "Squall or what's his name?"

"Yup."

"Oh, I doubt that," Quistis stated. "Seifer looked more like he was dying to kick his butt, if you ask me."

"Ya well, either way, Seif starts to act really odd when he's around him. He was all thoughts and silence last night."

"Thoughts and silence? Seifer?" Quistis breathed with an air of astonishment. "You must be joking."

"Not one bit," the auburn haired cowboy snickered. "He was so quiet that I almost couldn't go to sleep."

The two SeeDs couldn't bite down a laugh, and Seifer heeded them with a furious glare out of flaring jade green eyes. He had flung his bag into a corner of the small, neatly furnished train compartment, before flopping down upon one of the chintz couches. He stretched his legs out before himself and crossed them languidly, staring at the tip of his boots as he felt the train slowly taking off.

_'The little journalist primadonna of Timber on this train, huh? Who would have thought. Heh... I guess the parade is kinda a big deal. It's more bullshit for lil Leonhart to write about, anyway. Well, suit yourself, ice princess.' _

Two wagons up, Squall and his posse had also assumed their positions in their own, private little compartment. Considering that a gross of their missions was funded by the mayor of Timber himself, Melvin Carter, the Predators had little problems in the financial department to complain about. Their equipment was top-of-the-line, and thanks to Squall's writing skills and TM editor Zone's loyalty to the resistance factions, their cover was yet unscathed.

As he was sitting on a squashy couch, resting his elbows upon his knees and dropping his head so low that his hair fell into his face, Squall found himself caring little about their cover or their equipment. His forehead was throbbing, and he simply couldn't bleach that idiotic SeeD's image from his mind. It stirred something deep within him, something that he couldn't explain. Mechanically rubbing his thumb over his scar, he wondered at this new feeling. It was neither good or bad, really, it was just... there.

"Squall, are you okay, man?"

He flicked his head aside only an inch, glancing up at Zell's figure that was currently bent over him. The blond's tattooed features were dominated by concern. Silently, Squall returned his gaze to the ground and nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Now that you mention it," Selphie's chirping voice piped up, "He really doesn't look so well. What's wrong, Squally?"

Groaning, Squall ran his entire hand along the length of his scar. Couldn't they fucking _see_ that he wanted to be left alone? He knew that they cared, and although he appreciated their concern, it'd really have been nice if they would have refrained from prying around in his mind for a change.

"Squall? Yo?"

Irritable, the brunette whipped his head back up and leaped upon his feet. Zell had to take a step backwards to prevent a painful collision, and he eyed Squall with wary confusion.

"Hey man, I just-"

"_Look_," Squall cut him off sharply, shadowing the word with a note of warning, "I don't want to talk to you right now, Zell, okay? Do you get it? I don't want to talk to _anyone!_"

That said, he practically stormed out of the compartment and into the hallway, halting only when he heard the door hiss shut behind himself. He knew he shouldn't have ran off like that, if only because it made him look weak, but for some reason he had more trouble ignoring his friends than usual.

Quietly, he stepped up to one of the windows lining the hallway. He folded one of his arms against the chilly glass and rested his head into his arm's crook, vacantly gazing at the landscape flying by. He felt a sudden urge for fresh air pounding through his veins, causing him to dig his forehead deeper into the comfort of his soft leather jacket. The lack of sleep was clearly getting to him.

Then he remembered the small platform located at the very end of the train. He'd be able to step out there and catch his breath, and perhaps even clear his mind a little.

Yes. Some fresh air would do him good.

He pushed himself off the window and turned around to proceed down the hallway towards the last wagon. Ensnared in his thoughts as he was walking, he was rather startled when he suddenly heard someone cussing closely in front of him.

"-fuckin' good for fuckin' nothing morons."

Squall stopped in his stride and looked up. He had recognized that voice, though scarcely he might have heard it before. The sight of an athletic blond in a grey trench coat pacing furious circles proved Squall's notion all too correct. It was indeed Seifer Almasy, and the brunette's features slanted disdainfully at the realization.

Meanwhile, Seifer himself had taken note of the still figure that was standing only few feet away from him, lingering in the hallway. Ready to unleash his anger upon the next best person avilable, he whipped around, only to meet gazes with eyes of strident steel blue.

Eyes that he had seen in his dreams more than just once.

They stood quietly, staring at each other like predators stalking their prey. Around them, the train was rattling madly as it hauled overland and hit a few rough spots. Neither of them had any problems balancing their posture against the rash movement. Seifer didn't find the brunette's obvious agility suspicious at all. Rather, he was hypnotized by those arctic blue eyes and the pretty face that accompanied them.

If nothing else, that foul mouthed backwater hick was some good-looking shit, Seifer had to give him that.

Squall, on the other hand, didn't like to be stared at. He didn't know whether to blame it on his terrorist occupation or his general dislike for 99.9 percent of the population of Galbadia, but he definitely hated to be looked over. The fact that he was facing Almasy didn't make the situation any easier to deal with. For some reason or another, this man was genuinely unsettling him. There was something familiar about him - something familiar and dangerous. He could feel memories resurfacing that he didn't even know he had, but they were so blurred he couldn't even begin to understand them.

Changing his focus, Squall glanced at a point far beyond Seifer; some digital display or map, what did it matter? Anything that wasn't that SeeD served him just fine for the time being. Determined to push past the blond, Squall drew up his shoulders and rotated his body just slightly as he tried to walk by him – only to rebound from a strong arm that had connected with the window and was now blocking his path.

The brunette could feel his breath stalling in his throat as he quickly took a half-step backwards. So, the SeeD was asking for trouble. Of course. He had been practically _begging_ for it ever since they had first met. A cocky idiot that didn't know when to move the fuck on.

Typical.

When Squall raised his face to meet Seifer's, his features were dominated by thinly masked hostility and his body was tensed for a fight.

"Squall Leonhart... wasn't it?"

The friendliness dominating that question knocked the wind out of Squall's charge. He actually had to blink once or twice. Though the SeeD was still barring his path, his face didn't necessarily look unkind. Curious and snobbish perhaps, but bare of the raw aggression that had already darkened Squall's features. Quickly, the brunette adjusted his plan and forced himself to swallow down most of his anger.

Raising hell and attracting too much attention probably wasn't the best of ideas for someone in his position, anyway.

When Seifer received no immediate reaction to his approach, he curled his lips into a half-smirk. He was intelligent enough to see that where hostility didn't aid him, he was better off attempting politeness.

"The name is Seifer Al-"

"I know who you are."

Well, he had been silenced, just like that. As he stared down upon the slightly smaller brunette who was gazing up at him so defiantly, he found himself smiling on the inside.

This one had a short temper, and his fearless attitude was actually kind of attractive.

"Of course you do," Seifer drawled softly, leaning most of his weight into his arm that was still stemmed flat-palm against the window. "You're a reporter, after all."

The brunette fastened one hand around his hip and laced his eyebrows together, but he said nothing. Obviously, he wasn't of the talkative kind, but Seifer had already figured that much out on his own the night before. Though he didn't like Quistis and Irvine teasing him for it, he did consider this guy somewhat intriguing.

And that scar _did_ look a lot like his own...

"You going to D.C. to report on the parade?" he asked.

Squall had to ponder that question for a moment. Being snappy was of course an option, and probably his most preferred at that, but he also had to uphold his cover and that of his friends. Getting too lippy with this SeeD could get him into more trouble than he had bargained for.

Thus, he jerked his head in a nod.

"With those friends of yours?" Seifer continued, trying to sound indifferent.

"They're co-workers," Squall explained unwillingly.

"Right."

They stared at each other some more, and Squall found himself wondering yet again at that scar slanted across the blond's nose. He had seen it on TV for the first time, on that day when Almasy had saved former president Geoffrey Dollet's life. Quite frankly, Squall had never anticipated to see it up close.

"I read one of your articles," Seifer stated plainly, interrupting Squall's train of thought.

Squall shrugged softly. He was a good writer, he knew that much, but he had never actually cared about the art of writing itself. He exercised it for a living and to maintain a solid cover – not more, not less. According to Ellone, his father had been a journalist too, but Squall didn't know much about his old man and he cared to know even less than that. Had his sister been any less wise and informed him of this before he had taken up his job at the Timber Maniacs, he probably would have pursued a different career path.

Shooting after his dear father really was the last thing he wanted to accomplish in life.

Squall hadn't realized that he had been spacing out, his features curled in disgust at the memory of his absentee father, but he finally noticed that Almasy guy staring at him like he was some mental ward fugitive.

"Uh... you okay?" the blond asked, his impossibly green eyes looking at him questioningly.

Squall snorted.

What was it to _him_ anyway?

Irritated, he rubbed at the crumpled skin on his nose, not feeling the scar beneath his fingers through the leather of his gloves. Suddenly, being in close proximity of Seifer made him feel extremely uncomfortable; the SeeD's presence was like the stench of something very foul, making him feel ill. Then again, maybe it wasn't so much the SeeD himself as it was whatever memories he was provoking from Squall's confused mind.

Either way, Squall didn't like it.

"Did you want anything?" the dark haired journalist hissed coldly.

Seifer studied him quietly. He couldn't even quite say why he found this hick so fascinating, but one way or another, he sure did. The brunette was like a new toy to him, full of expressions and grimaces that Seifer found fresh and exciting. Granted, the brunette's frigidness was a slight turn-off, but at least it was something new, something unconsumed.

Seifer had become so sick of the never-ceasing adoration concerning his person that this stubborn, insolent Leonhart guy came as quite a welcome refreshment.

Squall took the blond's silence as a negative to his question, and he turned around brusquely. He was no longer in the mood to start anything with the SeeD; quite contrary, he felt strangely drained and lifeless. He was staring down the rattling hallway in front of him, his eyes unfocused. Just why was that man affecting him like this? He felt weak and tired, like he had been running for years.

Seifer's husky voice yanked him out of his reveries, and even though he wasn't in the mood for further conversation, Squall couldn't help but listen.

"Hey... I'll see you in D.C."

It wasn't a question, nor was it an invitation. It was a statement, blank and matter-of-factly, blanched of any doubts or suggestive undertones.

Squall couldn't even say why he nodded.


End file.
